Mindy McGinnis: In a Handful of Dust

Lucy moved closer to Monica, took the woman’s trembling hand. “How bad off was she when you brought her?”

“Pretty bad.” Monica sniffled, and a runner of snot was sucked into her nostril. “When she came back from swimming with you and Carter, she said she had a headache. But it’s the first real hot times of the spring, and her diving into the cold water, I didn’t think much of it.”

“What was the first indication it was more?” Vera asked.

“She woke up in the night, crying something awful. Carter and me, we came running.” Monica used Lucy’s sleeve to wipe away the fresh tears coursing out of her eyes. “She was having spasms, and she thought it was a charley horse, you know? So she got out of bed to walk it off, and she—she—”

“She what?” Lynn broke in, patience expired.

Stebbs put a hand on Lynn’s shoulder. “She couldn’t walk?” he asked.

“When she tried she just fell over, said her legs weren’t working right. So her brother picked her up and ran her over here.”

“Carter brought her about two or three in the morning,” Vera said. “What time did you go swimming?”

“It was after we planted the seedlings,” Lucy said.

“About two o’clock, by the sun,” Lynn added.

“Twelve hours,” Vera said softly. “Twelve hours to beginning paralysis and twenty-four to death.”

“Is that fast?” Stebbs asked.

“Too fast to do anything about. Whatever source Maddy picked it up from, anybody who came into contact with it is already infected.”

The pale hand holding Lucy’s clenched in fear, and her own heart constricted at the words. “What about Carter?” Monica asked. “What about my son?”

“If he’s not symptomatic by now, he should be okay,” Vera said. “Which means you’re all right too, little one.”

Lucy let out the breath she’d been holding along with the woman next to her and nodded, any worries she had for herself only small drops on the wave of worry that had crashed over her at the thought of Carter being sick.

“You feelin’ all right?” Lynn asked. “No headaches or anything funny with your legs?”

“I’m all right, Lynn. Really.” Lucy waved Lynn off, but Lynn still looked her up and down, as if she expected to see the virus surface in the form of fleas or ticks. “Even if I wasn’t, it’s not something you can just pull outta me, you know?”

Monica’s sweaty hand pulsed inside Lucy’s own. “No, there’s nothing you can do,” she said, as if reassuring herself.

“So if the girl got sick after swimming in the pond, but her brother and our little one is all right, what does that mean?” Stebbs asked.

“It means the pond probably isn’t the source,” Vera answered.

“Damn right it’s not,” Lynn said. “I’ve been drinking that water my whole life.”

“You’ve been drinking water from the pond after you’d purified it,” Vera corrected. “I wouldn’t rule it out.”

“It can’t be the pond,” Lucy argued. “Why wouldn’t I be sick then, or Carter?”

“It’s hard to say,” Vera said. “Polio is usually contracted person-to-person, but it can be waterborne.”

“So she got it from somebody else? But who else is sick?” Lucy asked.

And the first knock on the door came.

The knocks continued through the night and into the morning; the healthy came carrying the sick, and the sick carrying the virus. Lynn and Lucy dragged blankets to the grass downwind of the cabin for the invalids to be laid on. Most were dying even as Lucy settled them onto the ground, the eerie rattle that she had first heard from Maddy now filling her ears like the sound of cicadas. Vera talked with those who could still speak, desperate to find out where they had been before confessing there was nothing she could do for them.

“There’s really no cure?” Lucy asked, as she dumped a bucket of stream water into the kettle Lynn had set up near the bank. “There’s nothing Grandma can do?”

Lynn shook her head. “Way I understand it, it kills some, cripples some. Some only get a bit of a fever from it. Vera said it usually hits the kids, but it can get adults too. There was some president that had it.”

“It kill him?”

“No, your grandma said it crippled him, though. So I guess there’s no telling who’s gonna get it, and what it’s gonna do to them.”

Lucy snapped a branch over her knee. “That sucks.”

“Maybe,” Lynn said as she took the kindling from Lucy. “Maybe those that get sick are just happy to have it done, no matter how it ends. Like when Poe said,

Lucy sighed and cracked another stick in half. “Couldn’t your mother have taught you any happy poetry?”

Lynn smiled, but it was the one, slow and sad, that always came with talk of Mother. “She taught me what she knew. So has Stebbs. He told me once that people like me and him are badly built for times like this, when there’s nothing we can do.”

“You need an enemy,” Lucy said, understanding immediately.

“I do. And when it’s a sickness, I guess the best weapon I’ve got is the fire for the bodies.”

“That and the fact you’re not likely to be kissing anybody,” Lucy said, poking Lynn in the ribs with the end of a stick.

“That’s more of a precaution than a weapon,” Lynn said, easily grabbing the end and pulling Lucy onto her knees with one swift jerk. “And don’t worry yourself about whether I’m kissing anybody or not.”

“Touchy.” Lucy rose, brushing the dirt off her knees.

“But you’ve got a point.” Lynn smacked her flint together, trying to coax a spark into the branches.

“What’s that?”

“I’ve seen the way you and Carter have been looking at each other lately, and you shouldn’t be doing any kissing either.” A small spiral of smoke rose from the kindling, and Lynn rocked back on her heels. “Now’s not the time to be figuring out if you’re more than friends.”

Lucy tried to ignore the flush that spread up her neck and to the roots of her tightly cropped blond hair. “I’m not stupid.”

“Stupid doesn’t factor in when a boy’s mourning his sister and looking for comfort.”

“I’m not—”

The older woman held up her hand. “That’s all I’m saying about it. I’m not asking any questions, just telling you whatever’s going on needs stowed until we know more about this sickness. Understood?”

“Understood.”

Lynn held her eyes for a moment, then crouched low to breathe life into the fire she’d started. “I know we’ve not talked about… uh, some things.”

“Stebbs already explained to me about sex, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Lucy said, and the flush that had begun to recede reclaimed some ground.

“That poor man.” Lynn’s fire flared, and she studied it.

“What’s this about, Lynn? Why you talking to me about love when we’re burning the dead?”

“’Cause we’re about to hit some hard times, and I need you to listen to me. I tell you to go to the basement and not come back up, you go. I tell you to climb a tree, you head for the highest one, you hear?”

“You’re worried.”

“This whole conversation is me being worried.”

Even though the sun burned brightly, Lucy could feel a chill from the little graveyard nearby where her mother and stillborn brother lay, her uncle Eli with them. Lynn’s eyes shifted there too, as if following Lucy’s thoughts, and the chill settled into Lucy’s bones. If Lynn was worried, there was real danger.